Military Trappings, Short on Status; At Merchant Marine Academy, a Sense of Being Slighted

The dining hall roof leaks. Decrepit plumbing makes the water undrinkable in some buildings. The temperature in the barracks fluctuates with the whims of clogged radiators.

''This school is falling apart,'' says Jason Hochevar, a midshipman in his last year at the United States Merchant Marine Academy. But don't get him wrong; Midshipman Hochevar is otherwise very proud of the academy, an 82-acre training ground on Long Island's north shore for the country's commercial and military mariners.

Not that the midshipmen complain too loudly. The military culture here -- students dress in stark black uniforms, salutes abound, a formal procession precedes the march into lunch -- frowns on belly-aching. Midshipman Hochevar's assessment came only after some prodding. But he and other classmates gathered at a dining table with a base official close by quickly emphasized the positive.

''You make do with what you have, like on a ship,'' said Kirsten Preisch, a senior midshipman (the term also applies to the school's 95 women).

''Acta non verba'' -- deeds, not words -- is the school's motto but ''make do'' could serve just as well for a place that has withstood obscurity, the declining prominence of the United States in global shipping and whacks from federal bean counters.

Six years ago a commission headed by Vice President Al Gore to streamline the government proposed cutting the academy's funding in half and allowing it to charge tuition, something never done here or at the four other service academies, for the Coast Guard, Air Force, Army and Navy. Free tuition is a powerful recruitment tool, so supporters killed the idea through heavy lobbying by parents and alumni, like the late Lane Kirkland, the labor leader.

But since then, federal money for the academy has remained relatively flat, despite rising operating costs and sorely needed maintenance to shore up buildings constructed during World War II.

People affiliated with the school by turns sound defensive and prideful of its underdog status. That is perhaps because the school's mission -- to prepare people to work in the maritime industry, both ashore and afloat -- seems unexciting when compared to the larger, better-funded, more glamorous service academies, such as West Point or Annapolis. ''When was the last time you saw a movie about the merchant marine?'' is how Martin Skrocki, the public information officer at Kings Point, put it.

But the school, with an enrollment this fall of 929, basks in its occasional brushes with fame. Two weeks ago, when EgyptAir Flight 990 fell out of the sky into the ocean off Massachusetts, it was the Kingspointer -- a surplus Navy ship that serves as the academy's chief training vessel -- that was first on the scene.

It had been on a training run from Kings Point to Boston with 17 students and happened to be the closest to the site of the crash, which killed 217 people. The midshipmen plucked sections of the aircraft and body parts out of the water in the dead of night, an hour before the Coast Guard arrived.

Academy officials have prohibited midshipmen from discussing the crash in detail pending the completion of the investigation by the National Transportation Safety Board, which like the academy, is an arm of the Department of Transportation.

''It certainly was a sobering experience,'' said Ben Lyons, a midshipman and navigation officer on the Kingspointer, a 224-foot former Navy intelligence ship. ''I learned there are some things you have to do and that is what needed to be done.''

The academy traces its founding to the sinking of the Morro Castle in 1934 off Asbury Park, N.J., which claimed 134 lives. The disaster was attributed in part to the crew's inability to put out a devastating fire, raising concern about the lack of formal training for mariners.

But it was not until 1943 that the government formally established the academy, on grounds that once belonged to Walter Chrysler, the automotive tycoon. His white, Greek Revival mansion now serves as the administration building, a jewel among the more utilitarian sandstone block structures built over 18 months in the middle of World War II.

In the postwar years, the emphasis of instruction was more on ''ship driving'' and mechanics, says Capt. Robert L. Safarik, a 1961 graduate who returned as an instructor in 1983 and is now chief of staff. ''We were very hands on; it was almost like a trade school,'' he said.

''A grad could take apart a pump and put it back together again,'' Captain Safarik said, his hands fluttering in a way that suggests he still knows how. ''They still can, but it's more technological now. It is a much tougher school academically.''

Like the other service academies, candidates must meet rigorous scholastic and physical requirements, receive a nomination from a member of Congress and fulfill obligations after graduating. In the case of Kings Point, graduates must work five years in the maritime industry or on active duty in the armed forces and must serve eight years in the reserve forces of any branch of the military.

Unlike at the other service academies, the midshipmen at the Merchant Marine Academy must also serve 300 days at sea during their four years, either on civilian or military vessels. That effectively means students, who graduate with a bachelor of science degree, squeeze four years of classes into three.

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About a fifth of the graduates go on to active duty in the military, usually to the Navy as ensigns. But over time, as the number of deep-channel commercial vessels under the United States flag has dropped to 350 last year from 2,200 after the war, the academy has evolved so now almost equal numbers of graduates go to work on ships as stay ashore as engineers and managers at maritime-related firms.

In fact, the newest major, introduced last year, is already the most popular: ''Logistics and Intermodal Transport,'' which essentially means designing and improving how goods like wood are shipped, turned into chairs and delivered to living rooms.

Mariners from the old days may not recognize the classes, but the mores and routines generally have remained the same.

Reveille at dawn. Muster in the afternoon. Lunch formation. ''Sir, yes, sir.'' All the regimentation is still there and so are many of the traditions.

Graduates, upon learning they have successfully passed all required exams, still dash to ring the brass bell that hangs in front of the administration building, the same one they may have polished with a toothbrush for some plebian indiscretion like chewing gum while in uniform.

Many students initially scoff at all the rules and order; on a recent day a plebe even had the underwear in his drawer perfectly folded and arranged in neat rows.

But they come to see the regimentation as integral to life at sea.

''At sea, you don't do your job, people will die,'' explained Midshipman Hochevar, as a plebe, Kevin Sparks of Valdosta, Ga., stood at attention in his spare, cinder-block room wearing slightly scuffed shoes. ''No excuse for that, Mr. Sparks,'' Mr. Hochevar said, delaying a decision on punishment until his visitors left the room.

But all the rules make for an education highly prized in the maritime industry, as well as an alternate route around the other service academies to an officer's commission in the armed forces.

''There are so many unique aspects to the school and opportunities upon graduation that you could write your ticket,'' said Zachary Mathews, a senior from Winfield, Kan., who plans to fly for the Coast Guard when he leaves.

Rear Adm. Joseph D. Stewart, the school's superintendent for just over a year, said he has tried to balance the traditional mission of the school with changing demand from the marketplace, while, of course, hunting for ways to provide badly needed maintenance.

Funding lately has not been as precarious but still falls short of needs. In July, Representative Gary L. Ackerman, the Democrat whose district includes the school, won a $2 million increase in the school's budget, its highest in several years and one that brought financing up to $34 million.

Clyde J. Hart, who heads the United States Maritime Administration, which oversees the school for the Department of Transportation, said there are no plans to withhold financing or close the school, which would mean mariners would be trained solely at the handful of state-sponsored schools, several of which have endured their own troubles.

The State University of New York Maritime College in the Bronx, for example, is preparing new courses and other changes to try to increase enrollment, which has dipped 30 percent, to 816 last year, since its peak in the early 1980's, according to state officials.

Alumni of the Merchant Marine Academy continue to support the school passionately; the alumni association and its foundation donated an eight-acre parcel to the school in 1979 and it coordinates regular fund-raisers that generate $300,000 to $400,000 annually, primarily for extracurricular activities and amenities not financed by the federal government.

Admiral Stewart has big plans for the school. He wants more majors (the school now offers seven), more diversity, and, of course, more money.

''We need to revamp the barracks, a better athletic facility, a student union and rec center,'' Admiral Stewart said. ''But at the same time none of our needs are show-stoppers. Everything we are required to do we can do.''

Correction: December 13, 1999, Monday An article on Nov. 17 about concerns over the sparseness of financing and recognition for the Merchant Marine Academy referred incompletely to the sponsorship of legislation that increased its budget by $2 million a year. Along with Representative Gary L. Ackerman, Democrat of New York, the sponsors were Representatives Lee Terry of Nebraska, Walter B. Jones Jr. of North Carolina and Bob Barr of Georgia, all Republicans.